Stella was so ferocious in her mockery of their childish haunts and habitations that Michael began to perceive her old serene contempt was become tinged with bitterness. This morning she was too straightly in possession of herself. It was illogical after last night.
“Well, thank heaven, everything does change,” she murmured. “And that ugly things become even more ugly.”
“Only for a time,” objected Michael. “In twenty years if we visit Carlington Road we shall think how innocent and intimate and pretty it all is.”
“I wasn’t thinking so much of Carlington Road,” said Stella. “I was really thinking of people.”
“Even they become beautiful again after a time,” argued Michael.
“It would take a very long time for some,” said Stella coldly.
Michael had rather dreaded his mother’s return, with Stella in this mood, and he was pleased when he found that his fears had been unjustifiable. Stella in fact was very gentle with her mother, as if she and not herself had suffered lately.
“I’m so glad you’re back, darling Stella, and so delighted to think you aren’t going to Petersburg to-morrow, because the man at Vienna whose name begins with that extraordinary letter....”
“Oh, mother,” Stella laughed, “the letter was quite ordinary. It was only L.”
“But the name was dreadful, dear child. It always reminded one of furs. A most oppressive name. So that really you’ll be in London all this winter?”
“Yes, only I shan’t play much,” said Stella.
“Mrs. Carruthers is so anxious to meet you properly,” Mrs. Fane said. “And Mabel Carruthers is really very nice. Poor girl! I wish you could be friends with her. She’s interested in nothing her mother does.”
Michael was really amazed when Stella, without a shrug, without even a wink at him, promised simply to let Mrs. Carruthers “meet her properly,” and actually betrayed as much interest in Mabel Carruthers as to inquire how old she was.
Maurice arrived at Cheyne Walk, just before Michael went up for term, to say he had taken a most wonderful studio in Grosvenor Road. He was anxious that Michael should bring his sister to see it, but Stella would not go.
“Thanks very much, my dear,” she said to him, “but I’ve seen too much of the real thing. I’m in no mood just now for a sentimental imitation.”